


Ladylike

by Who_Needs_Reality



Series: it's centrifugal motion; it's unthinkable [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake Dating-ish, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Mild Angst, Mostly Fluff, Platonic Kissing, Youtuber AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 04:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7962325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Who_Needs_Reality/pseuds/Who_Needs_Reality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy stares at her. "You want me to make out with you. Platonically."</p><p>Clarke very resolutely does not panic. "Do it for the views, Bellamy."</p><p>
  <b>(Or, an AU in which Clarke works for a Buzzfeed-esque company, and has to kiss someone in order to test lipstick durability for a new video. Feelings and decidedly non-platonic nonsense ensue.)<b></b></b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ladylike

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Medha Queen of Lipstick](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Medha+Queen+of+Lipstick).



> I don't have any good excuses as to why I wrote this fic, but long story short, I was watching [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kcdTYXCwMAA) video and my brain went Bellarke.
> 
> Also full disclosure: I know next-to-nothing about the technicalities of lipstick.

"You're literally just suggesting this because we wouldn't let you bankrupt yourself in Sephora yesterday," Clarke insists.

Raven grins. "Semantics. It's still a good idea!"

"She's right," Octavia says, "it sets the tone for the series really well."

Clarke considers. "Well, I mean it would give us the chance explore aspects of womanhood in real-life situations, as opposed to the glamorized media portrayal..."

Raven rolls her eyes. "Jesus, Mom. It'll be fun!"

"And socially incisive," Maya chimes in.

"Okay," Clarke says, "then I guess I'm in. Lipstick Olympics it is."

Raven and Octavia whoop and high-five, and Clarke exchanges a fond shake of the head with Harper. She's stressed about this project, as she is about most things, but excited. It's been two years since she started at Arkadia Digital, and getting their own series on the main YouTube channel is a huge deal. The four of them proposed  _DamselsThatDare_ two months back, and she can't quite believe it's finally getting made.

"So if the Lipstick Olympics are happening, we actually do need to hit up Sephora," Raven says. And then adds, nonchalant, "we can use the prop budget for that right?"

Harper tuts, but amusedly. 

"First things first, we need to outline the challenges," Clarke says, pulling out her omnipresent notepad. The Lipstick Olympics is supposed to test the durability of various long-wear lipsticks. 

"Coffee drinking is a must," Harper says, "and we can judge effectiveness by looking at how much lipstick gets on the coffee cup lid."

"I nominate tacos!" says Raven, slamming her hands on the table, "if a lipstick remains intact when you're trying to eat a taco it should probably be locked away by scientists for our protection because it will one day overtake the human race in all walks of life."

Clarke jots them both down, nodding. "Okay, cool. We need a third one."

Octavia grins, feral. "Kiss someone, obviously." 

There's a collective groan at that. 

"It's okay for you, O, you've got access to tall dark and handsome twenty-four seven!" Harper complains, "you forget the rest of us are spinsters."

Octavia is unrelenting. "It has to be done. Face it, kissing is one of the biggest threats to a lipstick, and if the point of this series is to be realistic and honest, we've got to include it," and then in a sing-song voice, "besides, you're going to kiss someone at some stage in the future, why not expedite the process?'

Clarke sighs. "I hate it when you're right."

Harper and Raven both mutter their grudging assent and "kissing" goes down as challenge number three.

"Now that's sorted," Raven leaps off the table she was perched upon, "we can begin the important part." Her beam is wolfish. "Sephora!"

 

\---

"Why do these have such weird names?" Bellamy asks, rolling a tube of lipstick in his hand. "I mean seriously," he squints at it, "what is  _M_ _oulin Rouge_?"

"A Baz Luhrmann film," Clarke answers, eyes flicking up from her laptop.

Bellamy tuts impatiently. "I  _know_ that. I mean, why is it a lipstick colour? Seriously, it's like Crayola colour names got drunk."

"The strangest things bother you, you get that right?" Bellamy ruffles her hair, and she swats at him. "Go grade an essay or something, god!"

He laughs as he turns back to his own pile of work. Bellamy's more-or-less a permanent fixture in her apartment. It started out because they used to spend so long arguing every time he came over with Octavia or their friends that everyone else would leave and he'd still be there, and that eventually evolved into just plain hanging out. He's probably her best friend at this point.

Raven swings by about half-an-hour later. "I'm kissing Wells," she says by way of an explanation.

"Actually you're standing here talki- _ouch_!" Bellamy yelps as Raven smacks the back of his head.

"Don't be a smart-ass." She turns to Clarke. "For the video, I called shotgun on Wells."

Clarke scowls. "You move fast, I was gonna ask him!"

She grins. "I know, that's why I got there first."

"You're the worst."

"And yet you love me."

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Was he terrified?"

"Of course, it wouldn't have been fun otherwise."

"When are you going to put him out of his misery and just ask him out?"

Raven pretends to examine her nails. "I'm biding my time."

"Why is Wells being kissed?" Bellamy asks, distracted from his essays again.

"For the video," Clarke explains, "the lipstick thing. One of the rounds is to kiss someone while wearing the lipstick."

"Huh." Then he huffs. "It was O's idea, wasn't it?"

"Of course," Clarke grins. "Please tell me you're not still sulking about Lincoln."

"I don't sulk," he protests, "I express concerned caution."

She narrows her eyes at him. "I don't have to give you the whole 'she's a grown-women and you need a life' talk again, do I? Because honestly, lectures are supposed to be your area of expertise but if I have to--"

Bellamy grumbles something and returns to his work.

"Okay but real talk Clarke, who are you choosing?" Raven asks.

"For what?"

"Don't be obtuse," Raven says, flicking a paperclip at her. 

Clarke sighs. "I'll find someone."

Raven purses her lips and widens her eyes, tipping her head in Bellamy's direction. 

Clarke scowls, shaking her head minutely. 

" _You know you want to_ ," Raven mouths.

" _Shut up!_ " Clarke mouths back.

" _Don't be a baby_."

"I am not!" Clarke snaps, and Bellamy's head whips upwards. 

"Not what?" he asks.

"Nothing," she mumbles, "Raven can we go check if Monty's fixed up the cameras now?"

Raven-- who's rearranged her face into something positively angelic-- hums cheerfully, and Bellamy just shakes his head, fondly confused. Clarke calls out a goodbye and grabs Raven by the arm, practically dragging her out of the apartment.

"Seriously?" she hisses.

"It was the obvious answer," Raven answers, unapologetic. "Seriously, the pathetic pining is getting...well,  _more_ pathetic."

Clarke doesn't actually have a rebuttal, so she just clacks her teeth in irritation. Because  _of course_ Raven knows just how to push her buttons, the biggest one being  _inconvenient crush on best friend_.

Raven's expression softens, but it's almost worse, because now she's wearing her "exasperated pitying" face that always makes Clarke cranky. "Look I'm done with trying to get you to act like a rational human being and just say something, but come on. If getting to make out with your aesthetically blessed crush isn't enough motivation, it means you don't have to use Octavia's back-up option for you."

Clarke frowns. "Back-up?"

"Yeah, in case you don't get someone."

"Who's the back-up option?" she asks warily.

Raven beams. "Cage Wallace, from the second floor."

Clarke shudders. "I'll find someone, okay? Worst case scenario I can just call Lexa."

"Yes, kissing your ex who got you fired and moved across the country without telling you is a  _much_ better idea than kissing the hot dude who basically lives in your apartment and wants your babies."

"That's not-- he doesn't-- Harper doesn't have anyone yet either!"

(Harper asks Zoe Monroe from HR over lunch the next day. Clarke eats her caesar salad with unusual aggression).

\---

In the end, she caves in, and decides to get this done and over with.

"Hey," she says, dumping her bag and flopping cross-legged on the sofa opposite Bellamy.

"Hey!" He grins at her, shoving his glasses up his nose in a way that makes her wish she could do it for him. "What's up?"

"Do you want to platonically make out with me for the internet?"

He's quiet for a moment, before licking his lips and swallowing. "Um. What?"

She refuses to let the blush crawl past her collarbone. If she's going to be a train wreck, she's going to be a  _stylish_ train wreck, the kind that ends up as a Pulitzer Prize-winning photograph about the fragility of man or some shit. "You know for the kissing component of the lipstick video. I can't find anyone and my back-up option is Cage Wallace and you seem like you'd be pretty good at this so be a sport and help me out."

Bellamy stares at her. "You want me to make out with you. Platonically."

Clarke very resolutely does  _not_ panic. "Do it for the views, Bellamy."

"Can I-uh. Can I think about it?" he says, looking like she's just tased him.

"What? Oh. Yeah. Yeah sure." She has to admit, she's a little bewildered. She doesn't think there's much to think  _about_. Maybe he's camera shy. Maybe he's just overthinking. He's Bellamy, of  _course_ he's overthinking. And now she's overthinking. Who decided to let them become friends again?

She doesn't press him about it, just heads to shower and avoid thinking about it, and start mentally prepping herself for a publicized song-fest with Cage-the-human-oil-spill-Wallace.

She's toweling herself off when Raven calls (Raven always calls when she's at the garage, her hands are never free long enough to text). 

"We film tomorrow, Griffin."

"I'm aware, yes."

"So? Have you done it?"

Clarke pulls on a sweatshirt. "Done what?"

She hears Raven huff in frustration. "Get a kissing partner obviously."

"I. Um. I asked Bellamy."

Raven whoops. "Nice going Clarke! So you finally get to--"

"Don't get too excited, Rae. It might not even happen."

"What?! Why?"

"He's, ah,  _thinking_ about it."

"He's thinking about it."

"Yes?"

"Clarke," says Raven slowly, "what  _exactly_ did you say to him?"

Clarke tugs on the end of her braid with the hand not holding the phone. "I asked him if he wanted to make out. Platonically."

"Platonically."

"For the views."

"For the views."

"Pretty much."

Raven is silent a long moment. Then another, longer moment. And then: "SO HELP ME GOD CLARKE GRIFFIN HOW IS ONE PERSON THIS INCOMPETENT AT BASIC HUMAN COMMUNICATION, AND THIS IS COMPARED TO BELLAMY-THE-HUMAN-CATASTROPHE-BLAEK HAVE I TAUGHT YOU NOTHING DID YOU ACTUALLY--"

Clarke pulls the phone away, wincing. "I'll call you back with an update," she yells into the speaker, and clicks off. 

There's a knock on her bedroom door. "Uh, Clarke-- is everything good?" calls Bellamy.

"Yeah!" she calls back a little too quickly, emerging from the doorway. She sees him sweep her with a quick, faltering, gaze, and she cringes inwardly because he can probably see she's a trouser-less sweater-clad mess.

"So, I'm taking off now." 

Clarke nods. "Cool. We, ah, we film tomorrow so just...get back to me or something."  _Get back to me_? So apparently she now talks to Bellamy the way she drafts emails.  _Nice going indeed, Clarke_.

Bellamy nods, flashing her a quick smile, and then he's gone.

Clarke flops back on the bed. 

Well shit.

\---

"This actually stayed on really well," Harper says, angling her pocket mirror and posing slightly for the camera when Monty zooms in. 

"Mine was a fucking disaster," Octavia announces, displaying the rim of her coffee cup which is now streaked pink, or, as Rimmel call it,  _Ibiza Sunset._ "What about yours?"

"I feel like it stayed on," Raven muses, "but does it seem like, super dry to anyone else now?"

"I feel you," Clarke says, "only a little wiped off, but the moisturisation of this thing isn't very good."

"I guess that means I win!" Harper says, hi-fiving Monty. "One point to Maybelline's  _Damask_."

"And,  _cut_." Monty puts the camera down. "Okay, challenge one is wrapped."

"We got that buddy," Octavia teases, shoving him.

"Whatever," he snorts, getting up to go, "I'll see you at two for the tacos." 

As soon as Monty's out of earshot, Raven leans forward. "So?" she hisses, "do you have a response yet?"

Clarke scowls into her coffee. "No."

"He's at work," Harper offers, diplomatic, "he probably hasn't had time to text yet."

"Or maybe you weirded the shit out of him," Octavia says, "which would be impressive. I always thought my brother would scare you off, not the other way round." Seeing Clarke's "look," she shrugs. "I mean, the dude literally starts reciting _The Illiad_ when he's drunk. Cover-to-cover. In a British accent."

He does. It's hilarious, and also weirdly hot. Which Clarke won't disclose to anyone. "Can we just move on to something else?" she mutters, "have we decided what to do for the video thumbnail?"

\---

Raven, much to her joy, wins the taco challenge. "That's a point for Bobbi Brown's  _Extraterrestrial_!" she says, waving the lipstick in the air like a trophy.

She and Octavia take off on a trash-talking battle, and Clarke's scrolling through her twitter feed when her phone starts ringing. 

"Hey Bell," she says, trying not to sound to hoarse. Raven, Octavia and Harper immediately stop to listen, and Clarke flips them off.

"I'll do it," he says quickly, like he's trying to say it before he changes his mind."

"Really? Great! Wait, this is about the--"

"The making out. Platonically. Right."

"Okay. Okay, great. Thanks, Bell, this is really helpful!"

"Sure," he says sounding positively strangled, "I'll swing by the studio around five-thirty."

"See you then."

"Hmm,"  _okay, that was a_ bizarre  _sound_ , "bye!"

Clarke stares at the phone after the dial code sounds. "He said yes."

"Thank god," Raven says, "why do you look like you're going to cry?"

"I do not!"

"Stop deflecting," Octavia says, nudging Clarke with her foot, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing. He just sounded somewhat...reluctant." He actually sounded _downright_ tortured, but Clarke has her pride. They don't need to know just how distressed he was by the thought of kissing her, that's something for her to dwell on next time she wants to get drunk and cry.

Raven and Octavia exchange a significant look, but don't push it. 

\---

Bellamy shows up just after Monty calls Raven and Wells in. He places a hand on her back and says "hey," right into her ear. She hopes he doesn't see her shiver. 

"Hey. Thanks again for doing this."

He smiles wearily. "What are friends for?" He's wearing contacts today, and his shirt is rumpled.

"Not usually this," she points out.

Bellamy grins more widely, slinging an arm around her, and she leans in gratefully to the casual touch. 

"Can I ask you something?" she asks, closing her eyes.

"Yep."

"How weird is this for you? Like, how uncomfortable are you with what's about to happen?"

When he doesn't reply, she opens her eyes to find him looking at her, not alarmed or anything, just watchful. "What makes you think I'm uncomfortable?"

She snorts in spite of herself. "Come on, Bellamy, I thought you were going into shock when you called!"

He smiles ruefully. "Okay, not my finest hour."

She noses his shoulder affectionately, which may be a little excessive, but it's been a very emotionally stressful day and she deserves some quality cuddling, dammit!

"I was just surprised," he says lightly, "you caught me off guard."

She's not sure that's it-- which is weird in itself, because Bellamy doesn't mince words around her-- but Monty calls them in then.

"Okay, I'm ready when you are," he says.

Clarke rests her hands on Bellamy's shoulders. He's warm. And very firm, but that's irrelevant. "You can close your eyes and think of England," she offers, half-smirking and hoping he can't feel her pulse racing.

He snorts. "Oh, shut up." Then he cups her face carefully in his hands, and tips her head up to kiss her and--  _oh_. It's not exactly how she'd imagined it would be (and she's imagined it an embarrassing number of times), but it's. Well, it's amazing. He's gentle and insistent, and she feels her hands bunching in his shirt, tugging him closer as his hands tangle in her hair. She's pretty sure she sighs into his mouth, which would be pretty fucking embarrassing but she doesn't really care right now. Somewhere along the line, they went from exchanging soft nipping kisses to Bellamy's tongue parting the seam of her lips and drawing her out.

When they come apart, it's for air, and Clarke feels a lump in her throat when she gets a look at him, lips swollen and pupils blown wide. With impossible tenderness, he raises a single finger to wipe a smear of lipstick from the corner of her mouth.

"Cut!" Monty says, and Clarke jumps, because she had forgotten he was there, truth be told. "Okay guys," Monty sounds a little high-pitched, "see you later."

They walk out into the hall. 

"Okay I'm going to take off now," Bellamy says, abrupt, and then clears his throat. And then he  _sticks out his hand_.

Clarke stares at him. "Seriously, what the fuck?"

He blinks. 

"Bellamy Blake, why the _fuck_ are you regressing on six years of friendship into the awkward acquaintance stage that we bypassed completely because we were too busy yelling at each other?"

He retracts his hand, scowling. "Jesus, I'm sorry."

"No, seriously. What the fuck is going on with you? I'm sorry I made you kiss me but--"

"For fuck's sake Clarke!" he snaps, and it's her turn to blink. "Just cut it out! You don't understand shit, so just let me go!"

"Don't pull that one on me," she hisses, "the whole emotional repression and withdrawal thing. We're better than that," she sounds almost pleading now, "you're my best friend. Talk to me."

The air seems to go out of him all at once, and he rubs his palm over his face. "Jesus. I know. I'm sorry. I just...this is hard for me, okay?"

"What is?"

" _Platonic making out_!" he yelps.

Clarke's brow furrows. "I'm sorry. Seriously. If I'd known it would freak you out this much I would have left it." She tries for humour. "Hey, next time I need a make-out buddy I'll take my business elsewhere--"

"No!" He looks more frazzled than he ever does during AP Exams by this point. "I mean, obviously if you want to that's fine, and that's your choice. But that's literally the opposite of what I want." He flushes, and his freckles seems to darken against his skin.

Somewhere amidst the thorough confusion and severe mortification, a glimmer of hope sparks in Clarke. "So you...want to make out with me?"

He chokes a laugh. "Yes. God, yes. Don't get me wrong, Clarke, you're my best friend and I wouldn't lose that for the world, but I want to make-out with you. A lot, and frequently. And also date you. And also do a whole host of other completely _non_ -platonic things with you."

Clarke feels like the whole universe just got bigger. "So you were freaking out because I prefixed my make-out request with  _platonic_."

Bellamy rubs the back of his neck with his hand. "I get it," he mumbles, "you were clear on where you stood. I thought I could do this platonically but it turns out I was less equipped to handle this than I thought. So it doesn't have to be weird or anything, I'm not trying to burden you with my angst, but just--"

Clarke pretty much yanks his face down to hers, struggling to kiss him properly because she's smiling so broadly. She ends up missing his mouth half the time, pressing breathless kisses to wherever on his face she can reach. "I only said platonic," she tells him between kisses, "because I didn't think you liked me."

She feels his laugh from his chest. "I don't," he says, cradling her face gently, "I love you."

And then he crowds her against the wall, trapping her mouth with his own.

Non-platonic making out is a lot more fun.

\---

"That's bizarre," Octavia says, grabbing Clarke's chin so as to better examine her lips, "it's like it was never there. It's completely gone!"

" _Moulin Rouge_ was a bust I guess," Clarke shrugs, nonchalant, "oh well." Actually it took the lipstick nearly two-hours of some very enthusiastic necking to wear away, but they didn't need to know that.

"Does this mean I win?" Octavia-- who won the kissing challenge-- asks, gleeful.

"No, it means you tie with me and Harper," Raven jeers, but that quickly turns to collective whooping from the three of them.

"Looks like Clarke's the loser," Octavia crows, jostling her good-naturedly. "Sucks to be you!"

When she gets home that day she gets to slide into Bellamy's lap and pretty much stay there, so, well. She has to disagree.

**Author's Note:**

> So that was my silly little fic. I hope you enjoyed it! Comments/Kudos would be ace. Come chat or prompt me on [tumblr](http://kingedmundactually.tumblr.com)


End file.
